


A New Beginning

by LondonGypsy



Series: Greek Summer Nights [6]
Category: Benedict Cumberbatch - Fandom, British Actor RPF
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, London, Moving On, New Beginning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-20
Updated: 2013-10-20
Packaged: 2017-12-29 20:38:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1009830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LondonGypsy/pseuds/LondonGypsy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been months since Greece.<br/>Life goes on.<br/>This is a new beginning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A New Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> A huge Thank You goes (as always) to my beloved SuperWhoLockGypsy.  
> Also a big big Thank You to Barawen and calliope79 for inspiration, cheerleading and generally making me want to continue this.  
> Barawen also for BritPicking this baby.  
> Thank you, Ladies, wouldnt have written this without you.

You can't die of a broken heart. 

But sometimes it feels like it. 

Staring out into the pouring rain, I absently stir my coffee, pondering how ironic life can be. 

I am in London, of all places, and it's raining. Thick fog is wafting through the city, enveloping everything in a grey cloud. 

London in October can be such a magical place. 

Right now it's just depressing and cold. 

Everything is stained, even the coffee tastes stale. 

Wherever I go, Benedict's gorgeous face is there, on busses, in tube stations, on the side of buildings. 

I cannot escape. 

I walk around the best city in the world with my head down to not see him, not see his wonderful eyes, blue or green or silver, staring straight into my soul. 

The loud clap of thunder makes me jump, heavy drops splatter against the window panes of the small café, making everything outside look contorted. 

Sighing I check my watch. It is late already and with weather like this I don’t feel the slightest wish to go to the last theatre on my list. 

Tomorrow. 

I close my notebook and drop it into my purse. 

The envelope in there has seen better days: it's stained and frayed around the edges, the name on it almost fainted. 

Yet it is still closed. 

I never had the nerve to open it, never read what he couldn’t tell me to my face. 

Not when I was back home, hiding in bed for three days, not wanting to see anybody. 

Not when I went back into work, getting harassed by my co-workers about how it was, how _he_ was.

Not even when my bosses practically forced me here, bribing me with a fancy hotel-room and too much money, so I could write the essay on London's cultural side they so desperately wanted. 

Yet I always have it with me. It wandered from purse to purse, always close by, always within reach. 

Now I take it out, eyeing it carefully, the sound of pouring rain drowns out the low buzz of the warm café. 

Running my fingertips over the paper, I think about him, allowing myself to remember him for the first time in a while. 

It still hurts but it's not the sharp pang I've felt in the beginning, more like a dull ache in the back of my conscious. 

I will never forget but there's a nervousness in me, a lingering longing for conclusion. 

I can't go on without drawing a line under this chapter in my life. 

And what better place could there be to be close to him one last time than right here? In his city?!

I rip the envelope open and shake out two pages of the hotel stationery, covered in his flourish hand. 

My heart clenches at the sight of it; he tried to write as neat as possible, that I can see, and a small smile tugs at the corners of my mouth. 

I slide one finger over the characters, imagine how he sat down to write this, probably right after I left to make sure I got it in time. 

' _My dear Isis_ ,' it reads and I have to put it down, my lungs suddenly not able to draw enough air. 

Good lord, three words and my entire world shifts; how the hell does he do that? 

I take a deep breath and start reading. 

' _I hope this reaches you in time. I don’t know your room number but I'll leave it at reception for you with the hope that they know who I meant when I described you._

_I don’t really know what to say. The past days have been the most amazing days I've had in a while. And yet I can't help and wonder what would have happened if I had let you leave that first night?_

_Perhaps I wouldn’t be sitting here, trying to put in words what I couldn’t tell you in person._

_Perhaps I wouldn’t feel as if I made the most horrendous mistake in my entire life._

_Letting you go? Was idiotic. I know that now. But there's no going back now._

_And for all I feel for you, I also know it probably was for the best._

_We live in two entirely different worlds. Literally. London is my home and as much as I love your country, I can't bear the thought of living anywhere else than in this grey and stinky old place. She's the most beautiful city in the world._

_But neither can I allow you to give up your life. Not for me. You should never give up yourself to meet anyone's expectations. Ever._

_Especially not for the madness that is my life at the moment. It is tough enough for me, and I have chosen this life. I don’t want to pull you into it as well, the stress, the bloody paparazzi, watching my every step. I couldn’t bare the thought of you being their target. Your life would change immensely and I cannot allow this._

_Shit, I am digressing, forgive._

_Isis, you're a strong, smart and independent woman, you wouldn’t be happy with me. I'm rarely home, and if I am, I am mostly working, always on the run, today here, tomorrow there._

_Or I am too tired to even take out the rubbish._

_I always run late. I am horrible at keeping track of almost anything, appointments, birthdays, thoughts._

_You see, I am terrible for anybody to be around._

_I only wanted to tell you that I had a wonderful time with you and will never forget you. I loved talking to you, laughing with you. Christ, alone thinking of your laugh is driving me mad already. I will miss that. I wished we had met at a different time in my life, I think we would have made quite the pair._

_Always yours, Benedict_ ' 

A stray tear escapes my eyes and lands on his name, smearing the word a bit. 

At the same time I am smiling; I should have known that only he would be able to waffle in a letter just as much as he does while speaking. 

“Idiot,” I whisper fondly, my hand caressing his words. 

I re-read his letter, soak up every word and after the third time, I lean back, smiling wider. 

He is right. Of course he is. 

Wonderful, stupid, reasonable Benedict seeing exactly what I couldn’t – wouldn’t – see back then. I still struggle to see it now but I do understand his reasoning. I've never thought that far ahead, have been living in the moment when he went through every possible scenario. 

We may be on the same wavelength but we wouldn’t stand a chance in the real world. It's one thing to enjoy a carefree vacation in a sunny place. Being together in a cramped city where your every step is watched, another. Who knows if we'd even been compatible on a daily basis. 

Sure, we do have that strong sexual bond that brought us together in the first place but would it have been enough for the hard every day life? It would have been a risk. One he couldn’t dare to take. 

He had seen that, right from the start, and had tried to prevent disappointment and heartbreak – for either of us. 

He played it safe and I can't blame him for it. 

His star is rising, he is in demand like never before. His every step will be watched, every misstep will be slaughtered by the media. 

We wouldn’t have the time to build up the trust that is needed to deal with all this. 

I caress the letter before I gently put it back into the envelope. 

“Thank you,” I murmur. 

It has taken time and distance but I can move on now, can try to live again. I'll never forget him, that is not possible but I can continue with my life. 

I look out of the window. 

The rain has subsided a little; more like a drizzle than the heavy downpour. 

And for the first time I actually see London, this wonderful city that captured my heart so many years ago. I've always wanted to live here but it never worked out. But I've never stopped visiting. Whereas others seek sun and heat for their holidays, my perfect vacation has always been the cooler and wetter London. 

A smile curls up on my lips, I feel as if a weight has lifted from my shoulders and even the cold, rainy evening seems a bit brighter. I have been down for months now, and funnily the man who was responsible for that also showed me the way out of it. 

My thoughts go to that essay I came here for. It is a huge chance for me, to make a name for myself, to get the recognition I deserve. My bosses saw that when I wasn’t able to. They gave me the opportunity and I almost dismissed it. 

A bus drives by, a flash of red and turquoise. The poster is huge, plastered all over the side of the bus. The blonde wig looks strange to me but it makes his Assange much more believable. 

And for the first time in a while the sight of his face doesn’t make me sad. 

I watch the bus roll down the street, a warm feeling of pride unfurling in my stomach. 

He'll be brilliant, I know that without a doubt, and I even might be able to watch it without bursting into tears. It might take a bit thought to see his face when I am not expecting it but deep down inside I know I can do it. 

With a lighter heart I pack my stuff and head out into the rainy evening, aimlessly wandering around. I want to clear my head a bit, and drinking in London's business seems to be the best way to do so. 

I turn a corner and suddenly notice that I am only a few minutes away from that last location on my list. Might as well have a quick look at it and use the spare time tomorrow to do my write up; my bosses are slowly getting impatient as my daily reports are a tad sparse. 

It starts raining harder again and I hurry along the pavement towards the canopy of the little theatre at the end of the street. Just as I reach it, another heavy downpour starts and I rush towards the entrance to escape the splashing water. 

I run full frontal into somebody, my nose connecting with a broad chest, covered in leather. 

“Shit, sorry, I am sorry,” I apologize, taking a step back. 

“Rubbish weather, innit?” 

I freeze in shock, my hands go numb and my stomach rolls slowly. 

This can't be. 

Slowly I look up, my eyes following the lapels of the black leather jacket. 

Sliver of a white shirt. 

Blue scarf tightly wound around a long neck. 

Strong chin, full, soft lips. 

Razor sharp cheekbones. 

He is absently smiling, fumbling with a lighter, eyes on his own hands, shielding the flame from the wind. 

I must have made some kind of noise because he looks up. 

Bright eyes pierce through that carefully built shell around me and leave me utterly defenseless to his gaze.

I whimper helplessly and his eyes go wide as he recognizes me. 

The cigarette tumbles to the ground, a red glowing spot, dying as soon as it touches the wet pavement. 

My heart is beating so hard, I feel it in my fingertips, hear the blood rushing through my veins, smell the faint scent of smoke still in the air between us. 

“Good Lord,” he wheezes. His voice is croaky and he stares at me in disbelief. 

I am unable to move and he is also frozen. He's gaping, his breath is coming in harsh exhales. 

My dazed brain registers the fine lines around his eyes and mouth and the dark shadows under his eyes, even in the dim light. He looks older than I remember. 

Suddenly the door flies open again and a couple of people topple out, laughing and chatting. 

“You're ready, mate? C'mon, we gotta get going or we'll miss the beginning. Smoking is bad for the image anyway. Oh... hello?” 

Trance-like I turn my head and somewhere in the back of my head a voice squeaks 'James'. However, the fact that James Rhodes is currently scanning me warily doesn't really faze me. 

My eyes return to Benedict's, still fixed on me. 

“Ben?” I hear James ask, a concerned tone in his voice now, “everything all right?” 

“What? Oh, yes, certainly. Yeah, everything...” he replies absently but the words die on his lips. He takes a deep breath and stuffs his hands in his pockets but not before I catch the trembles in them. 

Oh God, he's just as shocked as I am. 

“What are you doing here?” he asks quietly and I cringe at the woe in his tone. 

“Work,” I reply, not taking my eyes off of him. 

“Here?” 

“Yes.” 

“You?” 

“Yes.” 

“In London?” 

“Yes.” 

Out of the corner of my eyes I can see James' head turn back and forth between us. Under different circumstances it would be funny, he looks like he's watching a tennis match. He is clearly confused but helpless. 

“Why?” 

“I've told you, I can work from anywhere,” I whisper, certain the rain would swallow my words but Benedict hears them. His shoulder sink, his jaw clenches and he closes his eyes, inhaling sharply. 

“Yes, you did.” 

Silence falls, only the drumming of the rain on the pavement is to be heard. 

Then he looks up, finding my eyes in a heartbeat. 

The shock when our eyes lock is almost physical and he actually takes a step back. Nevertheless he smiles, hesitant and shy, and the sight of that sparks something warm in my stomach. 

“I am an idiot, aren't I?” 

My lips quiver and I don’t even try to suppress the smile on my own face. 

“Yes, you are.” 

James, who watches what's happening with furrowed brows opens his mouth but Benedict catches his movement. He shoots him a glare and shakes his head sharply before his eyes return to me. 

I can almost see the wheels turn in his head, and I wait, a tiny spark of hope blooming in my chest. 

I see when he comes to a conclusion. 

He holds out a slightly shaking hand but his voice is steady when he says: 

“May I try and rectify the stupidest decision I have ever made in my adult life?” 

Taking a moment I drink in his entire appearance before I slowly lay my hand in his. 

“You may.” 

His lingering smile widens into something so breathtakingly beautiful that my heart skips a few beats. 

With one swift move he pulls me close, his lips finding mine instantly and he kisses me with such force that I forget everything. 

His mouth is cool but his tongue is hot as it curls greedily around mine, erasing every thought in my head. Our joined hands are pressed between our chests, his free arm slides around my lower back, pressing me as close as possible and I melt against his chest. 

“Ahem. Anybody care to explain to me what the fuck's happening here???” 

I have totally forgotten about James but his miffed tone makes Benedict flinch. His arms close tightly around me as he breaks the kiss to look at the other man. 

“I'm sorry, man, I have to decline for tonight, I have something else to attend to.” 

I hear James snort and then: 

“You are bonkers, Cumberbatch. Suit yourself. But I demand an explanation.” 

“And you'll get one, mate, you'll get one. Not just now. Have a great night. My apologies to the others, yeah?” 

“Whatever.” 

I hear him grumble and walk away, muttering under his breath. 

“Sorry, you get in trouble...” I say against his chest but he only chuckles softly. 

“Och, don’t worry, he'll be fine by tomorrow. Although, I do have to explain myself otherwise he's withdrawing my VIP status for his shows.” 

I laugh and Benedict groans lowly. His mouth is on mine again, his lips and tongue devouring me and it takes me a moment to realize that he's babbling against my mouth, murmured apologies and soft promises. 

I melt into the kiss, my hand sliding up his back and into his hair. 

Oh. 

I pull back, looking at him in shock. 

“What...?” 

He actually blushes, two red spots forming on his cheekbones, highlighting their sharpness even further. 

“New job,” he mutters, ducking his head a little. 

I detangle my fingers from his and take his head in both hands. My fingertips graze over the shorn stubble above his ears and the nape of his neck: it's surprisingly soft, tickling my skin. It looks good, enhances his angular face, highlights its otherworldly beauty even more. 

“I like it,” I tell him, running my palm over the nape of his neck. 

He groans quietly, his head drops forward, his forehead resting against mine. 

“God, I missed you so fucking much,” he whispers huskily, his lids screwed shut. 

Caressing the short hair, I kiss the tip of his nose, his eyebrows before I push his head up again, searching his eyes. 

“I missed you too.” 

He leans back, looking down on me with shining eyes and a soft expression on his face. 

“Want to get out of the rain? The bar's still open,” he motions towards the theatre door. 

I nod, and grabbing my hand he leads me into the quiet bar in the foyer. There are only a handful people left and nobody looks up as we stumble in. 

Benedict guides me to a table and pulls the chair back for me. As soon as I sit he's hurrying towards the bar and only minutes later back with two whiskys on the rocks. 

“Figured you need one as well,” he says as he puts them down, falling into the chair next to me. 

He exhales loudly and looks at me, wonder and awe showing vividly on his face. 

“You are really here?!” 

It sounds like a question and I can't help but smile. 

“I am.” 

He shakes his head absently as he lifts his hand and lays it on my cheek. I lean into his touch, sighing softly. 

I'm dizzy and I feel like I'm dreaming; the past minutes seem so surreal and yet he's here, next to me, gazing at me with affection in his beautiful eyes. 

“I don’t know what to say,” he says, his thumb caressing my cheek, “I … I am shocked to see you. Happy of course, but I never actually thought... or even hoped to see you again... “ 

He swallows hard and I also feel a lump in my throat. 

“You broke my heart,” I whisper, “it almost killed me to leave you. But you didn’t want me so...” 

“Wait, I never said that,” he objects but I put a finger on his lips to quiet him. 

“Hush, listen for a second, okay? I didn’t know that back then. I know it now. I have read your letter. Today of all days even. I never had the courage to read it earlier, I couldn’t bear it. I've been hiding at home, trying to avoid everything that had only remotely to do with you. Which is hard these days by the way...” 

A quick smirk flickers over his lips even though he blushes again. 

I shake my head at him, amazed how one man can be so cheeky and so humble at the same time. 

“You're impossible,” I inform him, “stop it.” 

“Sorry,” he mutters, schooling his expression into something adorably stern that only makes me laugh. 

“Bastard.” 

“God, please don’t do that to me,” he growls, his voice dropping an octave, his pupils widening, “you know what your laugh is doing to me.” 

I remember and I have to fight back the rush of desire his words cause. 

“Sorry.” 

“Don't be. My own fault that I can't control my primeval instincts. You were saying?” 

I take a deep breath and try to concentrate. 

I have forgotten what he can do to me with one look, one touch. 

But I need him to know what I went through, I need to have him realize what he did to me before we can even think about an us, a we. 

We can't make the same mistake again, neither of us would survive that. 

I clear my throat and continue. 

“You made a mistake, yes. But so did I . You made a decision without asking or even telling me. I should have been more persistent, should have told you to give us a try. But I was confused and hurt and then it was too late. The weeks after were tough for me. I wanted to hate you but if there's one bloody person I can't hate it's you. How could I? When my bosses made me the offer to come here, I refused. Vehemently. London was the last place I wanted to be. But they insisted and they're still my bosses so I couldn’t do anything. It was killing me, seeing your face everywhere, not being able to avoid you. I reckon that was the main reason why I've read your letter today. I needed conclusion, I needed to... dunno, get my life back.” 

I shrug helplessly, not able to explain the roller coaster of emotions I've been through since the summer but he seems to understand anyway. 

“There are no words that will make up for what I did to you,” he say softly, “I am the biggest idiot on this planet. I tried to avoid a problem that wasn’t there to begin with. I tried to keep myself safe and did just the opposite by not only hurting you but also myself. I don’t know what will happen, but that's life, innit? Chances and opportunities. This is mine. Although, I'll probably have to grovel for the rest of my life but I'll happily do so. For you I'd do anything.” 

My breath catches as he says that, the implication is as clear as day. And when I look at him speechlessly, he smiles and nods. 

“Yes, I mean it like that. I don’t know whether or not we stand a chance but we have to at least give it a try, don’t we? I won't make the same terrible mistake twice.” 

And for one second his face falls and I see all the pain and the suffering he also went through and I don’t have to think twice when I lean closer and kiss him. 

What starts as a short brush of lips quickly turns into something deeper, his hands sliding into my hair, pulling me against his mouth, kissing me hungrily. 

Low moans vibrate through him, that smooth baritone washing over me like a warm wave. 

His hands are sliding over my back, under my jumper, his fingertips carefully touching skin. 

Suddenly he pulls back, his eyes dark and huge, his lips swollen. 

“God, you're driving me crazy” he breathes, “I can't keep my hands off of you...” 

“'s fine,” I pant, trying to catch my own breath. 

“Listen, I know it's probably the last thing you want to do but can we please go somewhere more... private? I don’t know how much longer I can control myself...” 

I raise an eyebrow at him but he only stares back, lips parted and eyes so intense I shudder at the undisguised hunger I read in them. 

“Something more private, huh?” I try to tease but the tremble in my voice betray me. 

He growls lowly and his hand slides up my thigh under the table. 

“Yes, private. Somewhere where I can slowly undress you and show you in detail how fucking much I missed you.” 

His voice drips with desire and it chases a delicious shiver down my spine. He smirks darkly and leaning closer he whispers in my ear: 

“You know what I did all the lonely nights after I came back to London? I touched myself, over and over again.. imagining it was you. I thought about your hands on my cock, your lips on mine, kissing me while stroking me hard...” 

His hand on my thigh grips tighter, his fingertips dangerously close to the throbbing need between my legs his words evoke. 

“Benedict...” I choke out but his lips on my ear make me moan quietly. His tongue slowly glides over the shell, making me shiver in expectation. 

“Can we please just go?” he growls and all I can do is nod. 

He's on his feet before I can even push my chair back. 

“Oh wait,” he says and grabs the untouched glass on the table. He hands me the other one and looks me deep in the eyes. 

“To us,” he says solemnly, “and to not making decisions hastily.” 

Smiling I empty my glass, the whisky burning down my throat and lighting a little fire in my stomach which is only fuelled more by Benedict's stormy eyes on mine. 

“Let's get out of here,” he says. 

He takes my hand and entwines my fingers with his before we step into the night. 

Together. 


End file.
